Werewolf in London
by SlytherinQueen
Summary: A death of someone close to him rocks Sherlock out of his comfort zone. When two American men come poking their noses into the mysterious death saying they know what did it Sherlock is thrown into a world he never thought possible. The Winchester's are baffled when they help one of the most brilliant minds in all of Britian chase down a brutual killer.
1. Chapter 1

Werewolf in London

He took a long drag of his cigarette; the patches certainly were not going to cut it today. John was sulking nearby watching his friend struggle. Sherlock heaved a heavy sigh and snuffed out his butt under the heel of his boot. Adjusting his coat collar he turned and gazed at John with a sort of hallow look. John wasn't completely sure how to react to this and kept his smug as per usual the last few weeks.

"We're going to be late if we don't hurry."

"I'm aware…," Sherlock said icily.

"I'm only trying to help you're also part of the funeral. You really don't want to be late for your own…" John started to say. Sherlock cut him off with a glare and by stepping into the church. He almost laughed to himself. Sherlock Holmes standing in a church was severely laughable in any given situation. There the casket was waiting for him. Empty, though it was, it still unnerved him by what it represented. John slipped past and took a seat in the back. Sherlock hoisted his share of the casket and together the group of solemn faced men walked it down the aisle. Slowly they marched and in his head he could hear a slow dramatic cello playing mournfully. The church remained eerily silent, save for the footsteps of the group of men. Even though the casket was empty and it was only for the family's sake, it was still heavy. After they placed it down gently in the front of the church for all to see Sherlock took his respected seat in the family section.

"Let us say a quick prayer before we begin," The priest spoke. John noted Sherlock refused to bow his head. He wondered what was going through his mind and how he was doing. Sherlock had been off for about a week now, and though he wasn't one to disclose his feelings, John wasn't about to ask either. The last thing he wanted to do was try to mother Sherlock Holmes.

"Amen," Sherlock blinked. He hadn't realized that the prayer had even started let alone ended. He was so absorbed, so wrapped up in his own mind he felt like he could barely function. His head was a fog, and he hadn't been able to pull himself out of it the past week. He knew John had been worrying about him but he just didn't care. He looked on as a very broken seeming man came to the pulpit and cleared his throat. Slowly he wiped his nose on a dirty looking handkerchief and stuffed it back into the breast pocket of his suit.

"Today, I put to rest my beloved only daughter Gwendolyn. It grieves me so to see such a light has been taken from this world. She was such a fire cracker always so full of beauty and life," Sherlock wanted jump up and cut in but he was locked in his seat by some form of rage or self restraint.

"I'll never get to spend Christmas watching the children she longed to have opening gifts by the tree. That smile that lit up like Time Square on New Year's Eve…I won't ever see it again. My sweet girl, was taken from this world and now I'm never going to hold her or hear her voice again…" Those words struck Sherlock to his core and with a mighty force he pushed himself gracefully from his seat and stalked down the aisle out the door. Just a blur of black leaving the church all cheekbones and anger, the other church goers shivered with discomfort as he left. John got up and followed him out finding him in the back alley lighting another cigarette.

"At the rate you're going today you might as well start treatment for lung cancer," John commented. He came up and stood next to his best mate, his flat mate, and held his head high like a solider always does. Sherlock took a long pull of his cig and then extended his hand offering some to John. He declined like always and Sherlock merely shrugged.

"Are you okay?"

"If by okay you mean overwhelmed by this strange human emotion you call grief than I'm doing just peachy." He almost laughed at the jest of it all. He felt like such a joke. John sighed and waited for Sherlock to finish his smoke.

"Let's go get something to eat. We need to get you away from this. I'm sure Sid will fix us something really nice. Come on it's not far from here a good walk will do you some good," John insisted nicely. Sherlock gazed at his dearest friend and after a long pause he nodded. They walked in silence for a little while until Sherlock stopped and sighed.

"How are you supposed to go on? What do you do when someone who changed your life dies?" Sherlock asked. John grimaced as if recalling a horrible memory. He then did something completely out of character. He took the last little bit of Sherlock's cigarette and inhaled deeply. Coughing a little he tossed it onto the ground at his feet and ground his toe into it firmly putting it out. Sherlock noted the motion and stored it away.

"I did it. You died, right in front of me. My best friend and I had to pick up the pieces and live like you would have wanted me to," John paused. "That was not in misery and I know, it's a whole lot of easier than said than done. But if I can do it then the great Sherlock Holmes can do it too."

"How?" Sherlock asked. John held back a laugh. A genius like Sherlock and his people skills and how well he was tapped into his emotional side he shouldn't be shocked that he was asking John for help. The man didn't know about the sun for Christ sake so why would he know how to coupe with death?

"That's something you have to figure out for yourself. Compose again, catch her killer, I don't know what else to tell you Sherlock. That's my advice to you. It will help that you also have me here. I didn't get that lucky..," John mumbled the last bit. Now it was Sherlock's turn to grimace because of the statement. He stared blankly at the street signs before starting to walk again.

"Catch her killer….yes…it's brilliant…," And then he fell silent, lost in thought. John didn't get a word out of him the rest of the time they were out.


	2. Chapter 2

Werewolf in London

Molly Hooper was shocked to see such attractive men in her part of the hospital. Usually men like these types are never near her section of Bart's. They were wearing nice suits and came in flashing badges, American FBI. Molly wasn't the only one that had noticed these two men as they came into the morgue. Everyone was a little bit skeptical of their badges but they let them through anyway.

"Can we please see the Holmes case? We got a call. It matches a killer we've been tracking, leaving six other bodies just like this one. It's a priority we see it," The taller of the two said. Molly did as she was told and lead them to wear the body was. Molly stood there uncomfortably as the two began to look over the body carefully.

"I knew her…she was nice…not like most women these days so full of themselves…"

"That's great…uh…do you mind? We've got a lot to go through and you're kind of in our way," The shorter one said. Molly excused herself and let them get to work. The brothers worked quickly deducing what they could. She was pretty, from what they could tell of what's left of her. She had blonde hair and blue eyes but that was about all they could tell. She was torn up pretty good, and her heart was missing.

"It's him alright, look what he left in place of her heart…," Sam Winchester said to his brother dawning gloves and reaching into her chest cavity to pull out a small gold ring. It wasn't like any of the jewelry she had on her, that was all silver and white gold.

"Dean, she's wearing silver. I bet she got him a little bit with that."

"She clearly fought back, look at all these defensive wounds. I bet he got more than he was reckoning with her," Dean said almost scoffing. This werewolf they were hunting was giving them a lot of trouble. He slaughtered six women all over America and jumped ship to London to start anew when the brothers were hot on his tail. He was cunning, wasn't like most werewolves, he killed for fun. Most just killed the people they got angry with. They had him pegged he just kept slipping from their grasps.

"So now we just have to figure out where in hell in London this asshole would go..," Dean sighed as the two mulled over their next move. Little did they know that they were about to have some company.

"Sherlock, I can't let you in there," Molly said grabbing his arm and trying to pull him back. John watched confused as to what was going on. Sherlock resisted a little but didn't want to hurt Molly.

"Why can't I go in there? I'm in here all the time, I have to see her!"

"I can't let you. There's an investigation going on in there," Molly pleaded. Sherlock stopped his eyes bewildered at her statement. John too jumped in, there should be nothing going on, so why was someone looking into her case?

"An investigation? Lastrade told us that he would personally oversee her case. So who is looking into it?"

"Two FBI agents, they said they've got a match on her killer and that the guy has killed six more before her…," Molly stammered. Still in his black suit from the funeral he stormed in Lastrade's badge ready to go. John tried to hold him back but there was no stopping him. He burst through the door and in that moment John was so relieved he didn't have a gun. The two men jumped out of their skin and Sherlock came barreling through the door of the morgue ready to do whatever he had to in order to keep this case safe. He couldn't protect her in life, but he needed this.

"Sir, you can't be in here, you are impeding a federal investigation," Dean lied holding up his badge. Sherlock whipped Lastrade's badge out in return and stared the two down. John watched anxiously with Molly.

"Detective Inspector Lastrade, you have no jurisdiction over this case. This case belongs to Scotland Yard. Let me see your badges," Sherlock demanded. They did as they were told in exchange for the badge that Sherlock was holding. He examined the badges quickly, didn't take him too long to see that they were fake. They realized right away that Sherlock was also not who he said he was.

"These are fake," Sherlock said with a half smile. Dean returned a cocky grin and gave Sherlock his badge back.

"And you are clearly not Detective Lastrade, so it seems we're at an impasse. What are you doing here?" Sam said getting defensive. Sherlock took a step forward and John thrusted a hand forward to stop him. Dean raised his eyebrows and there was a long paused. Finally Sherlock sighed.

"Sherlock Holmes, and if you don't mind I'd really appreciate it if you left my wife's case alone. I have the real Detective Inspector Lastrade's permission to conduct an investigation concerning her unusual death."

"Well we actually can help each other here because we know what did it," Sam tried to reason. Sherlock's eyes narrowed and he got a deep scowl on his face.

"You said 'what' not 'who'…what do you know..?" Sherlock said growing more suspicious by the minute. The boys were not keen on his sudden attitude change.

"Is there some place we could talk a little bit more privately?" Sherlock reluctantly gave them his address and he and John left. Molly stopped them halfway out of the hallway confused and slightly terrified.

"Who were those men Sherlock? What do they want with Gwen's case?"

"Not now Molly, something big is at hand here and we are right at the cusp of it," Sherlock shouted as he took off at a sprint. He had to do some research on these Winchesters and find out if he could trust them or not. In the cab back to Baker Street John began to question Sherlock.

"Are you sure that we can trust these Americans? Maybe they are in on it…?"

"They seemed awfully jumpy didn't they?" Sherlock mused. He was silent clear until after they arrived to Baker Street. He was spinning with all sorts of thoughts from the day as he walked up the stairs and got onto his laptop. John tried to talk to him but he was far too focused to pay him any heed.

"Do you think it's safe to go? What if it's a trap or something?" Dean asked having some serious doubts. This Sherlock Holmes character was sort of troublesome in Dean's book and after the whole Bella ordeal he had stopped trusting Brits.

"Dean, this is his wife's case and he has a lot of say with the police. I don't think we have a choice. We have to help him out if we don't want to get kicked out of the country. I can't let this werewolf continue to run free and kill more women, can you? This is not our turf, so we have to play by the rules alright?" Sam said as he went back to his computer screen. He wanted to know as much as he possibly could about Sherlock before they talked with him.

"So what do we tell him? The man is clearly a man of science how do we prove to him we are complete lunatics?" Dean asked. Sam pondered for a bit. That was one thing he hadn't really considered.

"Well, there's always dad's journal, or we could summon Cas, or I don't know but we'll think of something. Maybe we might even have to take him hunting with us, we'll just have to see," Sam said. Dean shot him a look.

"We'll deal with this later but for now we should at least talk to the guy…"


	3. Chapter 3

Werewolf in London

"What's wrong with Sherlock John? I can't get him to talk to me. All he does is stare out the window," Mrs. Hudson said in a worried tone to John. John faked a smile and leaned in close to give her an explanation without Sherlock overhearing him.

"Two Americans have been poking their noses at Gwen's case so Sherlock invited them here to have a chat with them. I don't know if they are going to help or not but they said they know who is responsible," John said softly.

"What. They said they knew 'what' is responsible," Sherlock interrupted not looking away from the window. Mrs. Hudson and John shook their heads and Mrs. Hudson went to make some tea. Sherlock didn't say anything after that and John didn't want to disturb his thoughts. He knew that he was lost in thought, thinking of her. Time passed and the Winchester's still hadn't showed their faces. Sherlock began to play his violin, composing John suspected. Finally the doorbell rang and the two Americans came in.

"Sorry, had a bit of trouble locating the place," Dean chuckled nervously as they came up the stairs. Sam was carrying a large bag that both John and Sherlock couldn't keep the curiosity at bay.

"In case we need some proof," Sam said with a shrug. Sherlock laughed a little at them, analyzing what he knew about the two men and then speculated what was in the bag.

"Proof? What exactly do you need proof of?" He was more than moderately curious. Same just gave him a passive 'you'll see' and took a seat next to his older brother. With a heavy sigh the two began. Sherlock could tell they did this sort of thing a lot, explaining their line of work, if that's what you could even call it, to people not apt to believe them.

"We found out about your wife's case because we've been working on six exactly like it. And we came to you because we want to catch him just as much as you do. We can help each other; we have a unique situation at hand here. You know this city, you know Gwendolyn's habits, her friends, and her schedule and with this knowledge you can give us a timeline to establish things," Sam began. Sherlock gathered he was the more eloquent of the brothers, the brother with the book smarts. He studied the boys a little more closely for a long while as they talked to John. The suits they were wearing were cheaply made, obviously used only for pretending to be feds and nothing more. Now the suits had been replaced by faded and ripped jeans, wrinkled shirts and grungy shoes, they clearly lived out of suitcases. Both had been drinking, though not much. He could smell a faint trace of gun powder, they must have been working with guns earlier, maybe packing shells, he wasn't completely sure but it was a well educated guess.

"Earlier today you said you know what killed my wife, not who," Sherlock butted in cutting John off. John let out a sigh use to the fact he did that all time as Sherlock brought his fingers to a steeple and rested his chin upon them. Dean made his little nervous chuckle again. Sherlock gathered this man was not very comfortable with his presence.

"Yes, yes in fact we did say that. But you know what that's why we have proof. I know you are a man of facts and science Mr. Holmes," Dean began.

"Please, it's Sherlock. Mr. Holmes is what the British government calls my older brother when they are kissing his ass."

"Well…Sherlock we have facts. We've got so many facts it'll make you head spin." Sherlock smirked.

"Doubtful, thought you are more than welcome to try," He retorted slightly amused. John stayed silent as he surveyed the situation at hand. He knew Sherlock was enjoying this maybe more than he should be. He was more likely to believe the Winchester's than Sherlock from the start. But if john wasn't the one they were trying to convince, he would be easy to persuade.

"I'm sure a simple book won't do the trick, so we decided to give you a firsthand look at what we do for a living. I know Dr. Watson here can shoot a gun, but what about you? Are you skilled with a fire arm?"

"Yes, I am," Sherlock drawled. John was completely immersed in the conversation. Sherlock on the other hand was growing bored of it all.

"We'll make it as simple for you as we possibly can, though we know you don't need it. We are what you would call hunters and we hunt down the things that go bump in the night. Vampires, ghosts, werewolves, demons, angles, you name it we've killed it," Dean said to Sherlock and John. Sherlock didn't do anything for a second and then let out a full bellied laugh. He laughed more than he had in weeks.

"You've got to be joking. This clearly a joke isn't it? You can't possibly think I am going to believe this hocus pocus? Lastrade put you up to this didn't he? No…of course…this has you written all over it John. Come off now, fess up," Sherlock replied with a huge grin on his face. The brothers sat there awkwardly as the two began to banter.

"Of course not Sherlock! Why would you possibly think that? What, did I hire a couple of actors to give you a laugh is that what you are insinuating? Are you telling me I made up characters like Mor…" John cut himself off and got all flustered and ran off to the kitchen to get something. Sherlock knew what he was going to say. He wasn't bothered by it he knew it was a valid point. Dean stood up and brought John back not wanting to take anymore.

"Alright, that's enough. Now either you come with us an help us gank this ghost we found to help prove to you what we do is real and we aren't complete nut jobs, or we work your wife's case whether you like it or not," Dean snapped losing his temper a tiny bit. John and Sherlock stopped bickering and gazed at him intently. Sherlock noted that John was stuck on the word 'gank' mouthing it over and over to himself with a puzzled look on his face.

"Has anyone told you that you two fight like an old married couple?" Sam jumped in laughing.

"How many times do I have to say it?! I. AM. NOT. GAY! Not that it seems anyone listens or cares…" John gave an outraged cry. Sherlock couldn't hold back the chuckle as John sat back down and tried to calm down.

"So…here's the game plan…."


	4. Chapter 4

Werewolf in London

Sam and Dean carefully explained the plan to Sherlock and John. Sherlock tried very hard to not feel foolish. Hunting a ghost, this is seriously what his life without Gwen had come too? Who could have possibly known this was going to be in store for him?

"There have been recent reports of some serious ghost activity as of late and we did our research and we know who has been up to things," Dean said in a matter of fact tone. Sherlock raised an eyebrow mockingly at the man and waited.

"And?"

"It's William Blythe, a locale who died some thirty years ago and forgot he died, " Same replied. Sherlock scoffed at him.

"And how are we suppose to 'gank' as you say a ghost?"

"We salt and burn his bones. But we've come across a problem during our research," Dean elaborated as they sat. The tension in the air was thick, and both sides were rather hesitant. John gave an awkward cough to break the silence.

"A problem? I thought that this is what you did for a living. How can you possibly come across a problem?" Sherlock said getting annoyed. Sam jumped right in and clarified.

"He was cremated, so he has no bones to salt and burn. But there is another way. There is an object that has his saliva or DNA on it. We salt and burn that, and our little ghost problem goes away."

"Let me guess, you know what that object is?" Sherlock was growing more cross by the minute. Little did he know he was about to get taught how to shoot rock salt out of a sawed off shot gun. John started to get the gist of things and jumped into the conversation.

"So we grab the object, burn it and then it's all over right?"

"Right, so let's go get this whole thing over with. Know how to shoot a shot gun?" Dean asked in the most articulate way one can ask about a shot gun. John nodded and Sherlock merely continued to stare. Dean took that as a yes and walked out of the room. Same handed them each a shot gun with rock salt packed buck shots and they went on their merry way.

"Do we get clued in on what this object was?" John asked Sam as they walked. Sherlock took that it meant the ghost wasn't too far from Baker Street and that a taxi wasn't needed. As they walked Sherlock got close to John and whispered in his ear.

"Does this seem mildly ridiculous to you?" John just shrugged as he walked down the darkened street behind the hunters. They walked a ways until they came to a store that had a gloomy feel to it. Closed for the night, Sam pulled out a lock picking set and they picked their way into the building. After they entered the building Sam and Dean stopped and raised their hands up in the air, signally a stop. There was an awkward squishing sound and Dean made a face.

"Son of a bitch…."

"Ectoplasm, but this is all wrong….," Sam replied looking at Dean's shoe. Sherlock took this as an opportunity to collect some data and do some testing on his own later. He grabbed a nearby jar and scooped a bit of the black goo into it and stuffed it back into his pocket. Meanwhile John was getting battle hungry. In truth he did miss the war, and being with Sherlock was always exciting, but he had never fought a ghost before.

"I take it something went wrong judging by the tone of both of your voices…," Sherlock jeered straightening back up. Dean was looking about now, checking the building with his torch very carefully. Sam turned to the two men beside him and let out a hesitant sigh.

"Ectoplasm is a product of very angry ghost, usually horrifically violent and vengeful. This means…"

"You got your facts wrong," John lamented with a deep sigh of disbelieve. Why did these types of things always happen to him? This time it wasn't even Sherlock who did it to him. That almost made it worse.

"Over here!" Dean shouted from the back of the store and the group made a quick hustle to go see what he had found. In the back office on a stack of bookkeeping papers was this foul looking handkerchief. Sherlock let out a groan. He knew exactly what was going on.

"Are all hunters this dimwitted? Don't you idiots get it?" He sat down at the desk and refilled through the papers for a brief second and then pulled one out for everyone to see.

"Though Mr. Blythe has passed on, his dearly beloved is still alive and their son who now runs the family business is embezzling money from her. He's cleared out all family funds so he can send his mistress to Fiji for Christmas," Sherlock concluded. Sam and Dean exchanged looks of wonder and John frowned.

"You can't possibly get a mistress out of that piece of paper."

"I didn't," Sherlock paused as a triumphant look came across John's face. "I gathered that from the picture next to it of the woman and this man, and one has a wedding ring and the other doesn't." John's face fell and he turned away. Then he let out a yelp and the others turned as well. John had found himself nose to nose with the ghost there were here to deal with.

"Shoot it John!" Sam shouted. John remembered then he had a gun in his hand and gave the ghost a quick blast. Sherlock grabbed the proof that there was something shady going on in this business as Dean flicked open his lighter to light the handkerchief up in smoke. But Mr. Blythe had other ideas. He reappeared behind Dean and gave him a good smack causing him to drop the lighter. A stack of papers that Dean had accidently spilt lighter fluid caught in flames with a mighty whooshing sound. Thinking quick John reached over grabbed Dean and the handkerchief and tossed the object in the fire. As the building around them started to go up they saw that the ghost himself was catching on fire. The group made a break for it and jumped through the window that led to a back alley and piled out onto the ground coughing and sputtering. No one said anything for a bit.

"Believe us now?" Sam grinned getting up from the ground and brushing his jeans off. Sherlock sighed. He felt at this point he really didn't have a choice. He had proof, they came through with their part, and now it was his turn to do so.

" Meet at Baker Street tomorrow, say a bit before 11.00?" That was the best that they were going to get out of him. The hunters nodded and left suggesting that they do the same, and keep a clean nose. Dean's words were 'Don't want to get in trouble for arson while trying to solve your wife's murder. That won't look to good.'

"What about Mrs. Blythe? Is she really going to lose all that money?" John asked Sherlock as they began to walk back to Baker Street. Sherlock smiled and pulled the piece of paper from his pocket. John smiled in reply and the two laughed a little.

"I'm mailing it to her in the morning. I'm going to go clear my head a little, but you go on in," Sherlock replied hailing a taxi and driving off. John shook his head and stepped inside Baker Street to get a goodnights rest. After what he had just seen he felt he needed it.


	5. Chapter 5

Werewolf in London

Sherlock's taxi ride to Bart's lab across London was very dismal. The driver barely spoke any English and Sherlock forbade him from trying to make chitchat. He need not be bothered by such trivial things. He had some tests to run on that so called Ectoplasm.

When he got to Bart's he was shocked to find Molly still there working. As usual she was delighted to see Sherlock and asked him what he was doing there so late.

"I should ask you the same thing Miss Hooper," He replied. He had been nicer to Molly since she helped him beat Moriarty but he hoped she hadn't taken that as flirting from him. He did come back from hiding with a wife…that had helped.

"Oh, car accident, I was the only one available. Seemed everyone else had plans," She said he nodded and started to work. She knew better than to bother him so she left him to it. He felt jaded still. A normal man would have been baffled but what he just saw, a ghost going up in flames. His only focus was if he could prove to himself that this was real. He hadn't adjusted to life without Gwen well. She made his life normal, not that he ever strived for that but she made him feel more important than he ever did as the Reichenbach Hero. She was his mystery to solve every day because he couldn't wrap his head around why someone like her ever stayed with him.

His tests where slowly one by one coming up inconclusive. He was growing angry with the machines and he held back his urge to smash everything into tiny bits. Maybe he should just give up that what just happened was in fact real and not make believe.

"Every good fairy tale needs a good villain Mr. Holmes," He muttered to himself. Gwen always loved stories and fairy tales. She would joke about what she would do if they were real and how they would be better in this way or in that. Maybe…just maybe he hadn't really been seeing the world as she would have because he refused to. His thoughts ran together in one giant river and he found himself slipping into a memory.

_It was a rainy day and he and Gwen were at her brother Hamish's house watching her niece and nephew for a while. They had on silly costumes that Gwen had helped them make for a school function sometime back. They fought over who got to sit on her lap, and it become some ridiculous ordeal; Cthulhu fighting a unicorn. Gwen was reading them a fairy tale as Sherlock observed idly. He normally wasn't too keen on children; he found them to be annoying and boring. But Gwen was insistent that he join her tonight. They made him play Clue, from which he got banned from just like with John though Gwen proved his victim can do it theory could work. Then he was forced to play Twister and he was sure he'd done something to his ankle. He didn't even mind, because he did it all for her: His mystery of a wife. He never could tell her no if she wanted something, save for one thing. He watched her laughing periodically as she acted out the story to the children. Over and over they made her read it and she did all the silly voices and actions every single time, he was so shocked that they never once grew tired of it. This maybe was how Gwen felt about him. She never bored of him, not once. Once the kids wear asleep, still in their costumes Gwen pulled out her favourite author and then read to him till Hamish and his wife got back from their date. _

_ "I swear they must have been super glued into their costumes by the super glue fairy because when I told them to get into their pajama that's the answer I got. And I'm fresh out of eye of newt to loosen the glue. I wasn't sure where your stock pile was so they still are Cthulhu and the Unicorn and there was nothing I could do about it," She chuckled as her brother laughed and sighed. _

_ "No wonder the kids like you so much sis, you let them do whatever."_

_ "Isn't that the whole point of being the auntie who spoils them?" Gwen continued to giggle. After a few more pleasantries they began their walk home. The rain had let up a bit, but they could see their breath in little puffs as they walked. _

_ "Do you think John missed us?" She asked him laughing. He couldn't help the smile that came to his face as a laugh flowed from his mouth. _

_ "You most definitely…me, maybe not so much I think. Like with your niece and nephew back there I got banned from Cluedo and I think he may still be a tiny bit cross with me over it," Sherlock replied. Gwen let out another laugh and sighed happily. _

_ "Do you ever think of us like that?" _

_ "What living in a mediocre flat in the middle of London with Cthulhu and being banned from Clue? No we have some much better waiting for us. After all we are Mr. and Mrs. Holmes."_

_ "Not what I meant and you know it!" _

_ "I haven't the slightest Clue to what you are talking about then," Sherlock playfully lied. Gwen smacked him and he chuckled. He loved to jokingly frustrate her. _

_ "I know for a fact you do too smarty pants! I'm talking about children, Sherlock, of our own." This got a considerable pause from him. He had always feared this talk. His silence had her very on edge he could almost feel it. _

_ "Gwen…."_

_ "You would make such an excellent father, though I know you certainly don't think so. I know a family dynamic is one you've never really known but let's face it, we already have one; you me and John. So why not expand a bit more?" She was clearly adamant about it and he knew that full well. Sherlock thought it over, but he knew he'd need a lot more time to ponder it. _

_ "I know fairy tales aren't real but don't you want that, what we just did? Read aloud to the kids before tucking them in at night?" Gwen almost begged. Sherlock sighed and gave his wife a hug. _

_ "May I have the chance to mull it over before we go anywhere else with this conversation? This is a big step, and unknown territory and we to trod lightly and see what will happen."_

He regretted now not just saying yes and starting a family with Gwen. He sighed with a heavy heart. If Gwen was so ready to believe in him to be a good father he guessed he could try to believe that the things that go bump in the night are real.


End file.
